Power
by Jixie
Summary: A prelude. The prawn find a way to bring electricity to the slums. Power to the people.


Power

By Jixie 09.06.09

District 9 © TriStar Pictures, Block / Hanson, WingNut Films

* * *

Pinching the peeling flake of shell on his forearm, he carefully pulled off the layer of old cuticle.

It was one of the problems with Earth's environment. While the fresh air tasted a thousand times better than the stale, recycled air on ship, the humidity made molting difficult. Larger portions of their shell still came of easily, but some areas - like around joints or on their faces - tended to stick. These needed to be peeled off, and the wait provided a perfect opportunity.

They were waiting on Christopher, again.

While Francis was focused on picking at his shedding exoskeleton, Gerald stormed back and forth, pacing the length of the hut. Molly sat back and watched, amused.

Discarded flakes of clear shell began to form a pile on the dirt floor, and Francis had cleared off most of his arm when Christopher finally arrived. Paul followed close behind, stumbling around with a mess of digging gear, and stinking of motherhood.

"Shit!" Molly snarled, scrambling to his feet. "What is this? Paul! You- stupid bastard!"

"Calm down." Christopher requested, not even looking at his fellow. He headed for the far wall, and after quickly pulling down some tacked-on newspapers, carefully removed a large map.

Paul looked as if he might drop their equipment, and Gerald helped him set it on the floor. They had a good collection of shovels, spades, and picks. Lights and torches wouldn't be needed.

"No! That idiot is gravid. He can't come. How could we let him? What were you thinking?"

For several long moments, Christopher stopped to stare at Molly. Then he shrugged. "We need all the hands we can get. Paul is coming, eggs or no."

Swearing again, Molly shook his head, then joined the others to inspect and distribute their gear.

It was not the first time this issue had come up. Molly was named such because of his smaller stature, and the humans had assumed, at first, that he might be female. Around humans, he was referred to by female pronouns, but the truth was their language had no gender specific words. The words they'd come to use meant roughly 'gravid-him' or 'gravid-his'... and Molly had not produced any eggs since they came to Earth.

That would be unfair, he felt, to any of his offspring born on this hated planet.

Paul, on the other hand, was one of the broodiest fellows they knew. He'd been one of the first to lay once they'd recovered their health. Ever since, he was either rearing young or ready to lay. None of them wanted to risk someone in that condition, but Christopher was right, they had little choice.

Folding and tucking the map into his vest, Christopher went and picked up a shovel and pick, which he then approached Francis with. Although no longer preoccupied with his molting shell, he still hadn't moved from the spot. Wordlessly he accepted the gear, not bothering to get up from the floor.

"Everyone ready?" Gerald asked. Nods of agreement were given, although some more reluctant than others.

Christopher gestured for them to follow, and headed out the door.

* * *

They walked for hours, deep into the city of Johannesburg. It was late at night, so not many humans were out, but they still took great caution to avoid getting caught. Moving slowly from building, to car, to building, they finally found their spot.

The cable was already there. Paul dug it up with his feet, it was only deep enough to hide from human eyes. Several kilometers of coiled wire was pulled out of the ground, and while they began to unwind it, Christopher and Gerald began digging at the starting point.

It was a human power line. Exposing the thick cable, they then started to dig a trench leading away. Francis dropped the starting end of their cable into the trench, and then collected his shovel to help with the trench.

"Why don't we connect it now?" Gerald asked, pausing to lean against his spade. "We'll just have to do this again later."

Christopher made an irate clucking sound, and Molly rolled his eyes. It was Francis who answered.

"Because, the power line is live. There is electricity in it. We can't touch it right now."

"I don't understand. Why not?" There was a sense of disappointment in Gerald's voice, his inability to understand the danger.

"If we touch it, it will electrocute... it will burn us to death."

"Oh."

Satisfied, if still a little let down by the fact that they'd have to come back another day, Gerald went back to work. Paul glanced anxiously from the live power cable to their disconnected, mostly coiled cable.

Several minutes passed before he finally asked. "Is this one deadly too? Is it filled with electricity?"

"No!" snapped Molly, and for a moment they thought he might throw a shovel at Paul. "Why must you ask so many stupid questions?"

"It's not stupid," Paul argued.

"They just don't understand." Christopher added. He paused, and then continued. "They'll never understand." There was a bitter note in his voice.

An uncomfortable silence followed. Now digging at a furious pace, Paul focused on his work. They moved along, meter-by-meter, each one taking turns watching out for humans.

They were about halfway done when they stopped. Making a larger hole to dump the rest of the wound cable into, they then carefully covered their tracks, collected their gear, and headed back to District 9.

* * *

Carefully perched on a garbage heap, Francis shoved ratty clothing and empty tins out of the way as he removed the circuit board.

Paul was squatting near the bottom of the heap. Francis hopped down and tilted his head.

"Are you going to help, or are you just going to sit there?"

The yellow-painted fellow grunted. Francis held out the computer board.

"We're looking for things that look like this."

For all his faults, Paul was a skilled forager. He may not have the slightest clue what he was looking at, but if you showed him what to look for, he could find it. With a shrug, he stood and started picking through the trash.

Christopher scrambled down the side of the pile, clutching a computer monitor. He set it aside, next to a broken keyboard, some salvaged kitchen appliances, and an assortment of circuit boards. Francis set his board onto the pile.

"It's a good run today," he commented.

"Not as good as I was hoping." Of course not. Christopher was only happy when they found parts from their ship, weapons or other tools that had been brought down in the transfer. He couldn't _use_ any of them, but recognized their potential worth. Francis sometimes wondered if this was incredible foresight or insanity.

They climbed back up onto the heap, and continued searching for treasures.

* * *

The cable set for another three days before they went back into the heart of the city.

This was one thing they'd learned the hard way, when going into strictly human territory. Never go more than one day in a row. A human spotting their kind in a more 'civilized' part of Johannesburg might pass it off as a fluke. They were also more likely to be on the alert for the next few days, and a second time would unquestionably get them reported.

Digging started without a hitch, although it wasn't long before Gerald opened his fool mouth and Molly was snapping at him and Paul.

No one had the high ground, though. They had arrived on Earth in the same boat, literally and figuratively. Leaderless, directionless, and unable to plan for the future. Christopher had explained it time and time again: that each and every one of them contained the potential to progress into a Developer or Commander. That they all were capable of producing a Founder.

They had a process, back home, were an exceptional Laborer could be quickly converted to a higher station, or a less productive Developer or Commander into a Laborer. It involved triggering the information that was already written in their innermost selves. Christopher said it was a natural process, which would happen all on its own in the absence of a Founder.

Exactly how, he didn't know. It happened naturally for him and each day brought new changes.

Francis likewise was changing, growing above the understanding and dependence of the average Laborer. The process was agonizingly slow.

Without guidance or instruction, they had no choice but to start with human technology. As Christopher's capabilities grew, he'd started to tinker with their own salvaged technology, although that was still a little too advanced for him... and way outside of Francis's grasp. It was a goal, though, something for them to aspire and work towards.

It was hope they desperately needed. After the disaster that happened with the Foundation eggs, few of their fellows had any hope to work with. The handful of others who had begun to show Developer traits... most acted out against the humans and had lost their lives, while others grew disillusioned and withdrawn.

A lot of encouragement was needed to get Paul, Molly, and the others to support Christopher in his efforts. Even then, they viewed everything through a lens of skepticism. Christopher's work was beyond their understanding, so they needed constant reassurance that their work and commitment would not be wasted.

Francis drew up another shovel full to dirt and glanced at his bickering friends. The truth was, neither Christopher nor himself would have got very far without this network of support. There were a good fifty or so others who would pitch in to help at any given time. Christopher was meticulous when it came to whom he asked to join in any particular scheme. Different fellows could be relied on for different strengths, and although he was no Commander, he did his best to find skills and personalities that complemented each other. Some personalities... like Molly's... couldn't be helped, but he was an especially clever Laborer, which often came in useful.

They worked until early morning, when the first sliver of sunlight broke the horizon. By then, they were well into District 9, and would be able to continue their work the next night unmolested. Christopher thanked the others for a job well done as the group headed their separate ways.

* * *

Molly ran his fingers over the monitor, tracing down to the power cable.

"You'll be able to get so much more done with a solid power connection."

There was a click of agreement from Christopher, who was completely absorbed in the computer he was building.

"Will you contact our home?"

This caused him to pause, looking up at Molly for several long moments.

"I don't know," he finally replied. "But I will try."

They both turned their attention back to their work, Christopher soldering connections together and Molly re-hanging maps and instructions, covering them behind discarded scraps of wallpaper.

"Can I see it?" Molly asked, suddenly.

Without looking up, Christopher offered a curt nod. "In a little bit."

It didn't take him long to finish, and true to his word, he found the spot on the dirt floor and begun digging with his legs.

"I was thinking of putting down a floor," he explained as he dug, "with a trap door. Should make things a little easier."

"That's a pretty good idea."

Uncovering the hatch door, Christopher unlatched it and slid it open. He hopped down inside, Molly following him.

The shuttle was small, and untouched since he'd found it. Even before he'd started the change, Christopher'd had the good sense to know that shuttle could mean the difference between being stranded and finding a way home. He'd buried it, with the help of a few friends, and later put a hut directly over the site. Those who knew of its existence would occasionally ask to see it, and he would always comply.

It made a difference, knowing they had something in hand, something _tangible_ that could get them back to the ship. Their mother ship, hanging ominously in the sky, felt like an impossible goal. They could never get back up there. They could never over-ride the autopilot and get it back home.

But a shuttle? That was doable. That was real.

They both explored for a few minutes, Christopher handling the controls on the chance it might spark some half-forgotten memory or deeper understanding. Nothing came to him.

Satisfied, Molly jumped back into the cabin. Christopher lingered for a moment, then followed, shutting and locking the door behind them. They both began to shove misplaced dirt into the hole.

"Did you father Paul's new egg?"

The question was so abrupt, Christopher could only stare, clearly taken aback.

"...no."

Molly titled his head to the side. "Why not? You prefer to couple with him over any other fellow. If you're not going to produce your own child, why not father his?"

Christopher made an odd, almost pained sound. "You, out of anyone I know, should be the last to question a choice of infertility."

"But I'm just a worker," Molly nagged. "Your offspring will be Developers. After your research, it's the most important thing you can do for the whole of us."

He made no reply, and instead, found another circuit board and continued soldering.

* * *

It had taken nearly six and a half years before any of them recovered enough to lay eggs.

The virus that had killed off their higher fellows, and about a third of the ships Laborer population, was followed starvation and disease. It left the survivors in terrible shape, and their bodies were slow to recover. Once they started reproducing, it took another three years before a Foundation egg was produced.

The first egg with a Founder embryo was, foolishly, kept with other normal eggs. It wasn't long before the humans had destroyed it.

It took the mother, Conrad, a few years before he could produce another. In the meantime, a fellow named Abigail laid a Foundation egg. Determined not to make the same mistake, they'd carried it out far into the wilderness, away from the city.

Within days it was eaten by wildlife. Conrad's second egg was sent with two fellows prepared to sacrifice _everything_ for that unborn Founder. By then, their activities had caught human attention. The two had walked out into the wilderness and never returned.

No one could have predicted what happened next. Conrad became delusional, convinced that the egg survived and that his child was still alive. Desperate, and completely out of his mind, he did not grieve for the lost egg or their fellows. Instead, he fell sick under the longing, wasting away to nothing. They'd tried to get medical help from the humans, but they just couldn't understand what was wrong with him... much less help him.

It was the first time anyone had developed the longing over a lost child. Grief and mourning were one thing, but this sense of loneliness and isolation only happened to those physically removed from their colony. The idea was so puzzling, so terrifying, that no one dared try and produce another Foundation egg.

The effects on their meager colony were devastating.

Christopher wondered, from time to time, if his decision to remain childless was for practical reasons - after all, he could accomplish so much more without having to worry about raising a little one - or out of fear. Fear, that had kept Abigail and any others who may have laid a Foundation egg, from trying again. Fear, that had left so many bitter and wracked with despair.

Each time he managed to convince himself that it was strictly practical.

* * *

They were once again at the freshly exposed power cable. A smaller group, this time, of Christopher, Paul, and Molly. They stood by, waiting for their signal.

Only a few minutes later, streetlights cut out in a carefully orchestrated blackout.

Paul beamed with excitement. "I knew we could count on him!" He chirped. Molly rolled his eyes- there had been no doubt that the power would be cut when they planned.

Immediately Christopher had started his work, carefully splicing the end of their cable to the power source. It took only a few minutes, and they began to cover the cables back up. He'd wanted to go and cut the power himself, but everyone had insisted they send Francis instead. The job was dangerous, and as bad as it would be to loose Francis, it would have been devastating to loose Christopher.

Finished with their excavation, they waited in the dark for Francis. It wasn't long before he was racing down the street to join them, tendrils contorted in joy.

"Is it done!?"

"It's done!" Paul shouted back. Molly clipped him on the shoulder.

"Would you _please_ be quiet?"

* * *

They all huddled around, eyes intently focused on Christopher. Gerald had been waiting for them back at the hut, along with Anna, Charlie, Mack, and a few of the others. There was hardly enough room in the tiny shanty for all of them, but not one dared to go wait outside.

There was a whirr and a mechanical click as the computer booted up. With the crackle of static the monitor flicker to life, softly glowing green text scrolling across the black screen.

A collective whoop of excitement broke out from the crowd. Months of planning and weeks of hard work had paid off in a huge way.

They had power.


End file.
